O singer of Persephone!In the dim meadows desolateDost thou remember Sicily? Still through the ivy flits the beeWhere Amaryllis lies in state;O Singer of Persephone! Simaetha calls on HecateAnd hears the wild dogs at the gate;Dost thou remember Sicily? Still…
The lily’s withered chalice fallsAround its rod of dusty gold,And from the beech-trees on the woldThe last wood-pigeon coos and calls. The gaudy leonine sunflowerHangs black and barren on its stalk,And down the windy garden walkThe dead leaves scatter, –…
A white mist drifts across the shrouds,A wild moon in this wintry skyGleams like an angry lion’s eyeOut of a mane of tawny clouds. The muffled steersman at the wheelIs but a shadow in the gloom; –And in the throbbing…
To stab my youth with desperate knives, to wearThis paltry age’s gaudy livery,To let each base hand filch my treasury,To mesh my soul within a woman’s hair,And be mere Fortune’s lackeyed groom,–I swearI love it not! these things are less…
(To Sarah Bernhardt) How vain and dull this common world must seemTo such a One as thou, who should’st have talkedAt Florence with Mirandola, or walkedThrough the cool olives of the Academe:Thou should’st have gathered reeds from a green streamFor…
O beautiful star with the crimson mouth!O moon with the brows of gold!Rise up, rise up, from the odorous south!And light for my love her way,Lest her little feet should strayOn the windy hill and the wold!O beautiful star with…
When Narcissus died the pool of his pleasure changed from a cup ofsweet waters into a cup of salt tears, and the Oreads came weepingthrough the woodland that they might sing to the pool and give itcomfort. And when they…
1. O goat-foot God of Arcady!This modern world is grey and old,And what remains to us of thee? No more the shepherd lads in gleeThrow apples at thy wattled fold,O goat-foot God of Arcady! Nor through the laurels can one…
The sin was mine; I did not understand.So now is music prisoned in her cave,Save where some ebbing desultory waveFrets with its restless whirls this meagre strand.And in the withered hollow of this landHath Summer dug herself so deep a…
It is full Winter now: the trees are bare,Save where the cattle huddle from the coldBeneath the pine, for it doth never wearThe Autumn’s gaudy livery whose goldHer jealous brother pilfers, but is trueTo the green doublet; bitter is the…
